


A Pleasure Like this Among Friends

by elliebird



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Kissing, Kissing, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-26 14:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15002948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebird/pseuds/elliebird
Summary: What's a little kiss or two?





	A Pleasure Like this Among Friends

**Author's Note:**

> In this you will find several of my current kinks: Ashton calling Calum “Cal," Calum’s mouth, and Ashton’s open shirts and silver jewelry. 
> 
> Title from [A Kiss or Two by Debbie Reynolds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFtxcpWqSFM)

**One**  
Calum should know better than to come out with Ashton alone. When Luke’s around on nights like this, Calum doesn’t feel the weight of Ashton’s focus the same way. 

When Ashton’s had a couple of drinks, he forgets that there are boundaries in their friendship. He doesn’t think about the line he’s crossing when he dances a little closer or leans in and lets his lips brush Calum’s neck in the pretense of having something to say.

Calum let himself forget that it wasn’t meaningful for a while until he the line that he’d drawn to protect himself had blurred to near non-existence. Ashton would sweet talk him, with a wide smile and a little playful wheedling, into going out and over the course of the night Calum’s personal space and sense of self-preservation had been swallowed up by Ashton’s casual, drunken affection. 

So he stopped coming out, choosing to stick close to home because the remembering and the mornings after always felt like being pulled out of a dream too soon. It became easier to find excuses, after the withdrawal and detox period, reasons Ashton could accept for Calum’s sudden desire to stay in. 

Calum’s out tonight because Ashton had sent him a text. _Come out with me_ it had said at ten o’clock, eight hours before their scheduled flight to Stockholm, when Calum had been thinking about taking a hot shower and jerking off. Ashton had stopped asking and Calum had forgotten how it felt to have Ashton’s attention. He’d said yes because Ashton had asked. 

It’s nearly 1am. Calum’s drinking water now, hoping it will keep him from thinking about the way Ashton’s hair is falling in his eyes, damp with sweat and how unguarded and happy he looks. Ashton isn’t showing any sign of slowing down, blitzed and loose limbed. A drunk Ashton means his hands are everywhere, resting at Calum’s hip, pushing Calum’s hair out of his eyes in an easy, light-hearted affection that feels anything but easy to Calum. 

Calum’s been with Ashton on countless nights like this one, an unwilling wingman watching him decide which girl to sweet-talk into coming home with him. Ashton's attention has been on him tonight. It’s never felt this easy between them and maybe that’s the problem, easy to get caught up in being Ashton’s focus, easy to let himself think about Ashton's pink mouth and the cool press of Ashton's fingers beneath the hem of his t-shirt like they have every right to be there. 

“I’m done,” Ashton says as the song shifts seamlessly into something new with a sick, heavy bass line. He empties the rest of his drink and sets it on the high top they claimed earlier. 

Calum has Ashton’s keys, one of three people Ashton trusts to drive his car. Calum opens the passenger side for Ashton, gauging the level of drunkenness to decide if Ashton’s going to need help folding himself into his ridiculous muscle car. 

“Thanks for coming out with me, Cal.” Ashton’s smiling at him, looking less drunk than he had in the dark, smoky glow of the club. His skin’s shiny and damp with sweat, a flush slipping down his throat to the open vee of his shirt and the collection of necklaces he’s taken to wearing these days. 

No matter what he tells himself, Calum’s _missed_ this. 

“Yeah, alright,” Calum says, to keep from saying something honest and terrible that can’t be un-said. He steadies Ashton with a hand on his shoulder.

Ashton lets out a breath and suddenly Calum finds himself backed up against the side of the car with Ashton looming, intent and focused, hands flat on the car’s roof, pinning Calum in as if he’d try to get away. 

Ashton’s an inch shorter than him but they line up in the ways that matter. His breath is warm against Calum’s lips. “Cal.” It sounds reverent when Ashton says it. “I’ve missed you.”

 _I’ve been right here,_ Calum thinks of saying but it’s not the truth and he sees now that he wasn’t ever hiding anything. Not from Ashton. 

He wants whatever’s about to happen as desperately as he wants to stop it. 

Ashton leans in. It’s careful and patient. He watches Calum for a reaction and when he doesn’t get one, he kisses him with a sweet, parted mouth. 

_Don’t_ , Calum wants to say but he wouldn’t mean it, a Pinocchio sized lie. Or a half truth. He doesn’t want it like this, with the taste of whiskey on Ashton's lips and his restless hands dropping down to hover uncertainly at Calum’s waist. 

He wants certainty. 

Calum can’t control his breathing. There’s a roar in his ears. He’s imagined a thousand moments like this one and none of them have come close to _this_. They were all just one-dimensional fantasies, no truth or reality in any of them. The actuality is better, like the difference between neon and sunlight. Ashton smells like Valentino _Uomo_ and sweat. His lips taste sweet like grenadine because he has a fondness for sugary drinks when he’s out. He’s hot everywhere his body touches Calum’s and Calum can _feel_ Ashton’s wild heartbeat. 

Calum’s spinning quickly into a maelstrom, drawn into a force he has no hope of controlling. He pushes at Ashton's chest. 

He can feel his reluctance to pull away. Ashton's flushed, taking deep breaths between his pink, parted lips, his eyes flitting over Calum’s face like he’s seeing him for the first time. 

“We should go,” Calum says. 

“That was stupid,” Calum says two miles later as he idles the car at a red light. He can’t bring himself to wipe the taste of Ashton from his mouth. 

“There could have been cameras,” he says when Ashton looks at him. 

“Let them see,” Ashton replies and for a second Calum lets himself believe it could be that easy. 

* 

**Two**  
The first show of their _III_ tour is in Stockholm, a tiny place called Debaser Strand. Matt tells them it’s sold out at a capacity of seven hundred and fifty. 

“This is going to be fucking wild,” Ashton says, looking around the stage with wide-eyed glee, hours before the doors open. The four of them are taking it all in, this new chapter of a career that has already given them so much. Calum straps on his bass and turns to face the drum kit, always looking to Ashton to set things off. 

Ashton’s right. It’s an amazing show. The vibe in the space feels fresh and wild, the audience singing the lyrics they’ve written back at them with an energy that’s heartfelt and breathless. 

Calum doesn’t know how to take it all in without fear of missing something important, like the sixteen year old kid with his eyebrow pierced and a Sounds Live Feels Live t-shirt. Or the way the walls shake when the crowd takes over the first verse of Amnesia or how the new songs are received by every single person hanging on to every word. 

They’ve played to a hundred and fifty thousand at Rock in Rio but this show feels like a new beginning, unfamiliar but just as real. 

They run off stage afterwards with the crowd screaming their name and Calum’s high on the same rush he used to get when they were performing their songs live for the first time. 

Calum doesn’t drink on stage the way the others do, the way Ashton does, going into a show with a couple of shots in him and getting progressively loose as the night goes on. Ashton’s always tipsy and eager to party at the end of the night. 

Calum’s keenly aware of Ashton’s presence in a way he’s never been with the others. 

Ashton is always a sweat-soaked, pink-faced mess at the end of a show, having thrown his body and entire being into a set. He’s flushed, fucking _glowing_ , when he corners Calum in the chaos backstage as the crew begins breaking things down. He’s wild-eyed, his polished quiff rioting against him, falling in his eyes and reminding Calum of seventeen year old Ash. 

Neither of them has said anything about what happened in LA. He’s not going to bring it up and while Ashton hasn’t mentioned it, he also hasn’t acted any differently. The tiny part of Calum’s brain that still deals with the age-old internalized bullshit was waiting for Ashton to play the “I was just drunk” card or pull away like suddenly Calum’s a virus he can’t risk catching. 

In a move Calum hadn’t seen coming, Ashton changed seats with Luke on the second half of the flight, sitting next to Calum for the stretch from New York to Stockholm, teasing him about his recent foray into Duke Ellington and Fats Waller, sweet-talking him into watching the newest Pixar together and casually touching him, fingers brushing his arm and lips hovering against his skin each time he leaned into say something. 

“You’re a mess.” Ashton’s crossing the tiny backstage space with a little half smile and this wild-eyed look Calum recognizes. It’s the one Ashton gives him before he convinces him and the others to follow him into whatever trouble he’s found. 

Ashton’s pink shirt is half-buttoned, his chest on display beneath a tangle of chains and necklaces that appeared one day when Calum was still getting used to Ashton’s new height and the sudden appearance of hair on his chest. He’s dripping sweat and smells like vodka and orange juice. 

Calum can smell the juice on his breath and the scent of his shampoo as Ashton bounces up on the balls of his feet and kisses him. It’s a kiss that might have been intended for his cheek but lands at the corner of his mouth. 

“Good fucking show, Cal,” Ashton says fervently. 

Calum laughs. “You’re wasted, Ash.” 

Ashton throws his passion into everything he does whether it’s the lyrics he’s writing or a heated argument about Dragon Ball Z and its cultural impact. He gives the same devotion to his drinking. If Ashton wasn’t so good at knowing where the line is and being able to find a balance, Calum might waste time worrying about the sheer amount of alcohol Ashton can consume, from the shots beforehand to the beers and mixed drinks he nurses on stage to the inevitable party he seems to find at the end of each night. 

Ashton doesn’t deny it. His crinkly, wide-mouth grin has settled into something less delirious, a private little smile as he studies Calum like he can see right into him and knows that Calum’s remembering getting kissed in the middle of a busy LA street, pressed up against the side of Ashton’s car like the end scene in a sweeping, romantic epic. 

“You want to kiss me, Calum?” The words are quiet despite the pandemonium happening around them. No one’s sparing them a second glance. 

Calum has always liked the way Ashton says his name, emphasis on the second syllable, drawing out the _m_ like he enjoys the feel of it on his lips. 

“You want to go for a walk? It’s a nice night, let’s go walk it off,” Calum offers in reply, keeping it light, knowing from the mischievous tilt of Ashton's mouth that he’s not getting out of answering the question. 

He doesn’t have an answer because it’s not as simple as _yes_ or _no_. 

__“Come on, Cal,” Ashton wheedles and without knowing how it happens, Calum finds himself backed into the corner of the tiny backstage space where it’s dark and removed, hidden in shadows where anything feels possible._ _

__Calum can play this game. He leans his weight against the wall, tilts his head back and offers an invitation of a smile he knows from experience can get him just about anything, if he’s asking the right people. “You know I do, Ash.” He lets his voice dip low and feels a rush of satisfaction at the way Ashton’s eyes darken and drop to his mouth._ _

__It’s fucking gratifying. Ashton might be drunk but he wants to kiss Calum as much as Calum wants to be kissed._ _

__Calum arches the small of his back, his hips tilting forward, a game of chicken he expects to win. Ashton doesn’t make a habit of fooling around with boys and if he’s going to change his mind, find a bit of sense in his alcohol-soaked haze, it might as well be now._ _

__“You look good, Cal,” Ashton says instead, knocking Calum off-balance. Ashton has always been easy with his praise, throwing his affection around like it costs him nothing. Ashton’s never sounded hoarse though, his voice whiskey-rough. The words curl through Calum, settling with a burning heat in the pit of his stomach._ _

__Ashton looks down, deliberately and slowly taking in the way Calum looks in his band t-shirt, clinging to him with sweat, and his tight black jeans._ _

__Calum has run out of patience. “So kiss me already, fuck,” he mutters._ _

__Delight sparks in Ashton’s eyes. He fingers the hem of Calum’s damp t-shirt. “You have a good mouth, Cal,” he breathes, words Calum’s not sure he’s meant to hear. He does, though, and having proof of Ashton’s attraction is a heady, powerful thing that buzzes through him._ _

__Ashton has to bounce up on to the balls of his feet. He doesn’t let go. He keeps his fingers tangled in Calum’s shirt and settles his other hand carefully at the base of Calum’s throat, the L-shape between thumb and forefinger framing the place where Calum’s pulse flutters wildly._ _

__“ _Fuck_ ,” Calum hisses, the breath knocked out of him. It’s sexy, the casual possessiveness. _ _

__Ashton's mouth is firm, almost demanding, when he kisses Calum finally, keeping him still with a light pressure at his throat that feels alarmingly safe. Calum opens to him immediately, letting Ashton control the pace of the kiss but making it apparent that he’s right there ready to match him beat for beat._ _

__A smoky back room with people coming and going is not the place for this but Calum has lost all ability to think beyond the warmth and sweetness of Ashton’s mouth, the first slip of his tongue between Calum’s lips, the hammer of his pulse beneath his fingertips where he’s gripping Ashton’s wrist._ _

__Ashton steps back, breathing hard. He’s flushed from his cheeks, down his throat to his chest._ _

__“Alright then,” Ashton mumbles, like he’s figured something out._ _

__*_ _

__**Three**  
Ashton has a hurricane glass holding something neon pink and sugary. The vodka in it is apparent from the scent of it alone and the haze in Ashton’s eyes. Ashton gets adorably flushed when he drinks. He also gets wordy, gesticulating as he speaks. He’s fucking charming and Calum, who can hold his liquor better than the other three fucks in his band, has been laughing behind Andy for the last ten minutes. __

********

********

__He’s lost count of how many takes they’ve done and how many umbrella drinks he’s had. They’ve moved on to _If Walls Could Talk_ which might be Calum’s favorite, for the way Ashton looks as he talks about it, his face animated and his eyes hazy and soft. _ _

__Calum likes watching Ashton. He likes the way he looks behind his drum kit, completely caught up and lost in the rush of playing live. He likes watching Ashton flirt with the pretty women who interview them, turning on the charm. He likes when Ashton catches him looking and his face shifts into something different, something Calum recognizes as _just for him_. _ _

__“How was that?” Ashton asks, coming out from in front of the camera to the shadows where Calum’s been watching. Ashton settles a hand at the small of Callum’s back, leaning into him, casually possessive._ _

__Calum shrugs with a smile he feels right in the center of him. “It was alright.”_ _

__Ashton blinks, his own smile hovering on his lips. “Alright?” His hand slips down, resting at Calum’s hip like it belongs there, like it has every right to be there._ _

__Calum won’t say anything, won’t risk disrupting whatever’s got Ashton thinking drunken kisses with him are a good idea._ _

__“Come here,” Ashton says and steers him further back into the shadows. He ends up with his ass half perched on a stool, behind a series of makeshift scaffolding that’s part of the set they’re using. He’s had just as much to drink as Ashton has, though he goes quiet and contemplative when he’s drunk, where Ashton gets giddy._ _

__“This is nice, Cal.” It’s an abrupt change in subject and it takes him a second to realize Ashton’s talking about his shirt, some boring black thing he was told to put on. Ashton hooks his finger in the neck of it and tugs. It brings them nearly face to face, with Ashton leaning over him, his breath sweet and warm on Calum’s mouth. As moves go, it’s pretty smooth. Calum laughs, moving in to lean his forehead against Ashton’s shoulder. He’s seen Ashton turn on the charm and it’s kind of incredible to be the focus of it._ _

__Ashton’s hand settles at the nape of Calum’s neck, his fingers playing in his hair. He has always had a precious, easy intimacy with the other boys, intimacy born of spending their lives in each other’s space and growing up together in a fishbowl. Calum rests his head in the crook of Ashton’s shoulder, breathing in the warmth of his skin, the scent of soap and sweat and strawberries. Ashton’s fingers on his skin are almost breathtakingly erotic, each stroke of a fingertip sending shivers and pleasure through him like he’s connected to electrodes._ _

__He lifts his head and Ashton is _right there_ , waiting for him. _ _

__Calum’s still figuring out what the hell is happening here. They don’t talk about it after the kissing’s done but neither do things get weird. If anything, instead of pulling away, Ashton’s more affectionate with him._ _

Ashton leans down and kisses him and Calum thinks _god_ and _yes_ and _finally_. The first kiss is careful, searching, Ashton asking a silent question. The answer is an emphatic _yes, please_. 

Ashton moves to stand between Calum’s thighs, ramping things up from zero to _holy shit_ quickly. Ashton opens his mouth and Calum can taste the alcohol soaked fruit on his lips. He rests his hands at Ashton’s hips and leans into the kiss. 

__Ashton is slightly smaller than him. It turns him on the way his open shirts and flash of skin do, the way his necklaces hanging against bare skin do, the way Ashton’s hands on his wrists do. The way everything about Ashton turns him on. Calum goes easily because he’s nothing but easy for Ashton._ _

__They’re both intoxicated, that weird, hazy headrush that comes from downing alcohol disguised as sugar. There’s something different about this kiss. Maybe because it’s the middle of the day and they’re supposed to be working, or because Luke and Michael are just a few feet away and Ashton’s not making any effort to keep this hidden. They’re tucked out of sight but anyone could come around the corner and see that Calum has his hand tucked in Ashton’s back pocket and his ankle hooked around his calf._ _

__The rhythm of the kiss feels like the ebb and flow of a tide. They kiss with their tongues in each other’s mouth, like they’re charting a course over an undiscovered landscape and in the next beat Ashton’s slowing the kiss down to taste Calum’s bottom lip and sip at the seam of his mouth._ _

__It’s fucking sexy._ _

__“Get a room!” Luke shouts from somewhere behind Ashton and Calum freezes._ _

__Ashton laughs into his mouth, his shoulders shaking and the sound vibrating through Calum. He hesitates, waiting for everything to come tumbling down._ _

__“Sorry,” Ashton says, laughing harder and not sounding at all apologetic. He leans back to look at Calum, smiling an adorably sheepish smile. “I told Luke.”_ _

__Calum turns pink. He’s flushed with alcohol, with pleasure, with Ashton apparently so into this that he’s told their best friend. “Oh,” Calum says and his smile feels too big for his face. He kisses the dimple in Ashton’s chin because it’s adorable, because he’s giddy, because he wants to. “What did you tell him?”_ _

__Ashton’s grin widens. “That I like kissing you,” he breathes and leans back in._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :) I'm on [Tumblr](https://elliebirdthings.tumblr.com/) melting down about Ashton Irwin.


End file.
